Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
Patsy’s House
Outside, the wind stirred the maples.
Inside, Burke felt the room shift.
He could feel it in the stillness of the kitchen. In the way her fingers tightened around the cup. But he hadn’t driven to Cullowhee for an old story.
He had driven there because Mabel Blackwood was dead.
“Before we go back thirty years,” he said, “I need to ask you something.”
Patsy looked at him.
“All right.”
“Do you know of anyone who held a grudge against Mabel? Anyone angry enough to want to hurt her?”
Patsy frowned.
“Hurt her?”
He nodded.
“Someone she might have been worried about. Someone she mentioned. Someone she’d disappointed.”
For several moments, the only sound in the kitchen was the faint ticking of a clock somewhere down the hall.
Patsy traced the rim of her coffee cup with one finger.
“No,” she said at last. “Mabel wasn’t afraid of anybody.”
Patsy looked down at her coffee.
"There was one thing."
"Walter."
A sadness settled over her face.
"Walter?" Burke asked.
She nodded.
“Mabel never told another soul. At least not that I know of.”
“What happened?”
Patsy sighed.
“About a year ago, Mabel discovered Walter had taken money from Blackwood.”
Burke’s pen stilled.
“How much money?”
Patsy looked down at her cup.
“It wasn’t a few hundred dollars.”
“How much?”
She hesitated.
“Seventy-five thousand.”
Burke’s eyebrows rose.
“Seventy-five thousand?”
"He fully intended to put every penny back before anyone noticed," Patsy said. “His brother had property under contract in Tennessee. Walter believed the sale would close before anyone discovered the shortage."
“But Mabel noticed.”
“Nothing escaped Mabel.”
Burke wrote quickly.
“What did she do?”
“She called Walter into her office and closed the door.”
“Did he deny it?”
Patsy shook her head.
“No.”
“He admitted it?”
“He told her exactly what he’d done.”
“And why?”
Patsy looked toward the window.
“He said he’d panicked.”
Burke waited.
“He told her he was ashamed to ask.”
Silence settled between them.
Finally, Patsy looked back at him.
“Do you know what hurt Mabel most?”
“The money?”
“No.”
She slowly shook her head.
“It was that after thirty years, he didn’t trust her enough to ask.”
Burke’s pen moved more slowly now.
Patsy’s voice softened.
“She told me, ‘Walter, if you’d walked through that office door and asked me for seventy-five thousand dollars, I’d have written the check before you finished explaining why.’”
Burke looked up from his notebook.
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
Patsy nodded.
"After that, she never trusted Walter quite the same way again."
Burke sat back.
“Did she tell you that?”
“She did.”
Patsy looked down at her hands.
“And do you know what she cried about, Sheriff?”
Burke said nothing.
Patsy’s eyes lifted to his.
“She said, ‘If Walter doesn’t believe he can come to me, then somewhere along the way I’ve failed him.’”
Burke stilled.
That was not what he had expected.
“She blamed herself?”
“That was Mabel.”
Patsy gave a small, sad smile.
“She could be furious with a person and still find a way to hurt for them.”
Burke wrote nothing for a moment.
Then he asked, “Why didn’t she fire him?”
“Because she loved Walter.”
Burke studied her.
“Not the way people like to gossip,” Patsy said. “The way you love someone who’s been beside you nearly his whole life.”
“She let him stay?”
“She made him repay every penny.”
“He did?”
“Every dollar.”
“But she never told Bennett.”
Patsy actually laughed.
“Oh, Sheriff.”
Burke almost smiled.
“What?”
“If Bennett had found out, he would’ve carried Walter off that mountain by the back of his collar before supper.”
“I believe that.”
“Mabel believed it too.”
Her smile faded.
“Mabel told me something I’ve never forgotten.”
Burke waited.
“She said, ‘Bennett would die protecting Blackwood.’”
Patsy’s eyes moved toward the planner.
“Then she said, ‘I need someone beside him who isn’t afraid to question people he loves.’”
The words settled between them as Burke looked down at the planner.
Deck.
Eleanor.
Succession planning.
Aubrey.
The pieces shifted.
“Did Mabel ever trust Walter again?” he asked.
Patsy went still for a long moment.
“She trusted Walter with the present.”
Burke looked up.
Patsy’s gaze had moved to the planner too.
“She wasn’t sure she could trust him with the future.”
Burke let that sit.
Then he turned the page in his notebook.
“What about Red Stephens?”
Patsy blinked, as though the name had pulled her back from another room entirely.
“Red?”
“Harold’s friend.”
“Oh, I know who Red is.” A little smile touched her mouth. “Everybody knows who Red is. Mostly because Red makes sure of it.”
“Did he ever bother Mabel?”
Patsy tilted her head.
“Bother her how?”
“Come on too strong. Make her uncomfortable. Give her a reason to be afraid of him.”
Patsy considered that, then shook her head.
“Red talked bigger than he ever lived.”
“That so?”
“That man couldn’t hurt a fly. He's all talk.”
Despite himself, Burke laughed.
Patsy smiled too, but then her face sobered.
“He flirted. He bragged. He wanted people to believe he’d had more power over women than he ever did. But Mabel was never afraid of Red Stephens.”
Burke made a note.
“And Bennett?” he asked.
Patsy’s expression changed at once.
“No.”
It was the sharpest answer she had given him.
Burke looked up.
“No hesitation there.”
“Because there’s no reason for one.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sheriff, Bennett McCrae would have laid down in front of a tractor before he let harm come to Mabel Blackwood.”
“And yet she didn’t tell him about Walter.”
“No.”
“Because she didn’t trust him?”
Patsy’s eyes narrowed.
“Because she knew exactly who he was.”
Burke waited.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Bennett’s loyalty is a beautiful thing until it becomes a weapon.”
Burke wrote that down.
Patsy sat back.
“Mabel didn’t want vengeance. She wanted order.”
Order.
Burke looked at the planner again.
It had never been just a calendar.
It was the work of a woman trying to ensure Blackwood survived the very people who loved it.
Walter Grady had taken $75,000 from Blackwood.
Mabel had forgiven him.
Forgiveness wasn’t the same thing as trust.
Maybe that was when the planner had stopped being a calendar and started becoming a blueprint. Not just for Blackwood. For the people she hoped would someday protect it.
Burke closed the notebook.
Walter Grady had moved much higher on Burke's list.
Not because Patsy suspected him.
Because Mabel had quietly stopped trusting him with Blackwood's future. She'd already begun preparing for someone else to lead Blackwood.
“All right,” he said. “Now tell me about Harold.”
Patsy looked toward the old photograph in the hallway.
For a moment, she only stared at it.
Then she shook her head.
“No, Sheriff.”
Burke waited.
“To understand Harold,” she said, “you have to meet Anne first.”
Patsy’s eyes remained on the photograph.
“To tell you about Anne,” she whispered, "I have to tell you about two sisters who loved each other more than anyone could imagine."
Outside, the porch swing creaked in the wind.
Inside, Patsy Jordan began.